


Nothing satisfies me (but your soul)

by Sermocinare



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Canon Era, Gen, Grantaire is evil, as in some kind of ancient malevolent being, e/R in a sick and twisted way, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sermocinare/pseuds/Sermocinare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no sweeter taste than hope, crushed and torn to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing satisfies me (but your soul)

The smile had not ended when the volley rang out. Enjolras, pierced by eight shots, stayed leaning against the wall as though the bullets had nailed him there; only his head hung down. Grantaire collapsed at his feet.

“...that hurt.”

Slowly, Grantaire rose to his feet again, dusting off his clothes and frowning at the bullet-holes in his vest.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Messieurs. Never wear your best clothes to an uprising. They are bound to get ruined.”

Those National Guardsmen who hadn't dropped their rifles were levelling them at him again, and those who had were busying their hands making the sign of the cross. 

Grantaire laughed, and shook his head, his grin wide and wicked: “Please, don't bother. With either. I am immune to your bullets, as I am to your prayers.”

Of course, they did not believe him. Not that he would have had let them live even if they had thrown down their weapons and surrendered their souls to him. 

It took him no more than a few human heartbeats to end the lives of all of them, their screams and shrieks filling the air like the sweetest music as he ripped them to pieces. It was the rattling, choking intake of breath that drifted through the ensuing silence that managed to surprised him. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

Grantaire crouched down next to Enjolras, absent-mindedly licking blood off his fingers. Enjolras was staring at him, blue eyes wide and hazy with shock and pain, but there was still a flicker of life in them. 

“Still clinging to life, hm? Remarkable.” 

Enjolras opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that emerged from his chest was a pathetic, gurgling whimper. 

Grantaire sat down, folding his legs beneath him, his elbows resting lightly on his knees. 

“I really liked you,” he said to the dying man, his tone chatty and light. “You were a rare creature. So inspiring. Listening to you speaking, full of hope and revolutionary fervor... it would have made my heart soar.” Grantaire cocked his head to the side and grinned: “That is, if I possessed such a thing.”

He let his eyes wander over Enjolras' body, over the shirt that was rapidly turning crimson with blood, and out of an impulse, he reached out to run a finger over the other man's chest.

“I am a great friend of revolutions of all sorts, you know. Not just because of the blood that is spilled, although that is of course a positive aspect.” Grantaire pulled his finger back and put it in his mouth, sucking the other man's blood off his fingertip. 

“No, what really makes revolutions my absolute favorite invention of all the things humans have come up with is the hope. All that hope, the dreams... only to be crushed and torn apart in a river of blood and pain. Oh, of course,” he shrugged, “sometimes they work out. But it never lasts long, does it? One form of oppression is replaced by another. You might think that you are free, that you have created utopia, but believe me, my friend,” here Grantaire heaved a theatrical sigh and reached out to brush a lock of hair from Enjolras' forehead, “in the end, nothing ever changes. I've been around for centuries, millennia, for longer than your pathetic race has existed, and nothing ever changes.”

Grantaire saw the flicker of life in Enjolras' eyes dimming, so he cupped the other man's cheek and leaned forward, until his lips were next to Enjolras' ear: “And still you hope, and still you dream, and still your spirit soars... and believe me, when all of that is torn apart? It is the most delicious wine I ever tasted. Goodbye, my friend, and thank you for that.”

With that, Grantaire pressed a kiss to Enjolras' cheek and got up, stretching lazily while he surveyed the carnage in the room and beyond with a wolfish grin. Time to move on. Somewhere out there was another bright-eyed young man, ready to change the world, and Grantaire would find him.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Les Miserables Fantasy Week on tumblr.


End file.
